


Heartstake

by PaddyChan



Series: Heartbeat [3]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: But he still sucks at feelings, Even though it's kinda his fault in the first place, M/M, Peter gets imprisoned, Ronan saves the day, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 10:48:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13902450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaddyChan/pseuds/PaddyChan
Summary: “Who is this?” For the third time, they showed him the really grained picture of a tall, bald and extremely muscular man in a hoodie. A blue one, that is. The guy. Not the hoodie. Peter sighed.





	Heartstake

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who's back, bitches?  
> And guess who totally didn't plan to write anything else in this fandom but totally did and now has WAY too many ideas to leave them dusting in her head?  
> Spoilers: It's me.

“Ooh-oo child, things are gonna get easier…” Softly singing to himself, Peter watched the ceiling. “Ooh-oo child, things'll get brighter.”   
Peter starred at the ceiling. He was bored as hell.  
He was in here for three days now and there was nothing to do. Literally nothing. His cell consisted of the most uncomfortable bed humanity had to offer and toilet. Not a bathroom, you know. Just a toilet. And a sink.  
They hadn’t even knocked! He had been in his fucking pyjamas, when the door was kicked open and a two guys stormed inside. They had cuffed him, dragged him into one of those overly unsuspicious black cars and drove off.   
His cell was opened. He sighed. Oh, boy. Here we go again.

“You know, we could be long done here, if you simply told us whatever you know?”  
Two guys were sitting in front of him on the other side of the table. They had taken him to the white room again. He always hated that colour, since his mom had died. “Believe me, I would, if I knew what the fuck it is, you guys what to know! That bed is hard as my last girlfriend’s heart,” he complained and made a face. It had been the very same for the last two days and it seemed there was no end to it. Honestly, these guys were a pest. And there was nothing he could do about it, since he didn’t have any magic tricked stuffed in his friggin’ pyjamas!  
“Who is this?” For the third time, they showed him the really grained picture of a tall, bald and extremely muscular man in a hoodie. A blue one, that is. The guy. Not the hoodie. Peter sighed. “I didn’t know yesterday, how am I supposed to know any more today? Maybe it’s a bodybuilder with a weird fetish? Or someone who _really_ is into that raspberry ice-cream that turns your tongue blue. It doesn’t matter how often you’ll ask, I just _don’t know._ ”   
His stomach rumbled. He didn’t eat all day. Not because he didn’t want to, but because they had just forgotten to feed him. On purpose. Fuck, he was hungry.  
One of the men in their totally fitting black suits handed him a photo. Trees were broken, the ground churned. And inside the mess were parts of what once seemed to be something made out of black metal. Peter blinked. “Whoa… did one of these NASA-shuttles crash? At least it didn’t happen in town somewhere.”  
“You should know,” the left guy answered -he was a little taller and had darker hair than the right one, nearly black. Went rather well with his suit. “You have been there.”  
Peter frowned. “Me? If I’d been there, I’d be dead, I guess.”  
“When we arrived, we found skid marks in the mud. They belong to a Ford Ranger, manufactured in 1990. Your Ford Ranger, Mr. Quill.”  
Peter blinked. “Mine?”, he asked and frowned. “I visited my mom’s grave the day and-” “How do you know the date?” This time, it was the right man, who asked. He was a little older. Seemed to have Irish roots or something. Peter vowed to never visit Ireland in his life.  
“You told me yesterday,” he explained and the guy grit his teeth. Then, he slammed another photo on the table. It was even more grainy than the last one, but one could clearly identify the blue guy… and a smaller person on his left, who wore a really red leatherjacket. Peter blinked. “Who the hell stole my jacket?!”  
Irish guy slammed his fist on the table. “Enough of this nonsense!” He got up and Peter blinked. “You mean, I’m free to go?”, he asked, however; nobody cared to answer. Instead, they roughly shoved him back into his cell. He stumbled and nearly fell down. With a sigh, he went to the sink to help himself to some water. 

Day four. Again, Irish guy and Blacky brought him to the white room, however; this time the table was gone and instead a single metal board was placed in the middle of the room. Cuffs were attached on both ends. Right next to it was a load of buckets. Peter swallowed. They wouldn’t- “What happened on August 12th in that forest?” Peter shook his head. “How am I supposed to tell you, if I don’t _know_?!”  
He fought, as they dragged him towards the board, but the attempt was useless, since he was cuffed. A hard punch in the gut nearly brought him to his knees and they cuffed his wrists and ankles on the metal-board. Then, they covered his mouth and nose with a cloth, fastening it behind his head. Peter’s eyes widened, when Irish Guy took the first bucket, pouring it all over him, until he was drenched and shivering. The water was ice-cold. When they went to his face, he screamed into the cloth. Fucking shit, this was not-   
Somewhere near, something exploded.   
Blacky sat down the bucket and both of them drew their guns. Fuck. Peter coughed in his cloth. Shit was about to go down.  
 _“Peter!”_  
Well, there wasn’t much he could answer, but at least he tried.   
And then, finally, the door burst open and the blue guy from the pictures entered. Just without the hoodie. His armour was simply way more badass anyway.  
Peter’s greeting was rather happy, even though “Rmhn!” wasn’t even close to his lover’s actual name. Within the split of a second, Ronan had taken in the scenery. Two humans. Laughably armed, with their backwards technology. And Peter, cuffed to a metal-board, dripping wet. Half his face was covered by a soaked cloth. A weapon pointed at his head. It wouldn’t even scratch him, but his Terran was of a way weaker species. He would be killed immediately.   
“There you are!” One of the guns was directed at him, but he couldn’t care less. His eyes roamed Peter, but gladly, aside from being in a pitiful, humiliating state, he seemed to be fine. He couldn’t detect any wounds, however; he would make sure there were none, as soon as they left the place.  
 _“I will tear you in a thousand pieces and bathe in your blood,”_ he sneered, even though they wouldn’t understand him. They would, soon enough.  
A shot was fired, aiming on his knee, however; the bulled was deflected easily. Under any other circumstances, he would’ve simply used his hammer to crush these insects. But he couldn’t risk hurting Peter.   
“Who are you and what do you want from earth?”, the one with darker hair asked, however; Ronan didn’t have any intention of answering. He needed to make sure nobody would hurt Peter before he was able to interfere. He couldn’t risk any kind of energy blast; Peter would be crushed, too. Therefore… he moved aside, forcing both men to focus on him. And within the blink of an eye, he tossed his hammer right onto the Terran next to Peter, before punching the other one straight into the next wall the very same second.  
Without even bothering to take another look, he walked to Peter, ripping the cloth from his face. “Ouch!” The Terran coughed. “Couldn’t you just be a little more careful?”  
 _“Shut up,”_ Ronan snarled, before tearing open the cuffs. Right afterwards, large blue hands slipped underneath his clothes and Peter blinked. “Seriously? I mean, I’m always up to it, but right now it’s just- _ow!_ ” The Kree’s surveying fingers had found the spot he had been punched a few minutes ago and Ronan teared off his shirt, to examine the heavy bruise, that was about to form. Growling, he made a mental note to get Peter a full medical check-up on the Dark Aster, to detect eventual inner bleedings. Peter didn’t have his translator with him, therefore any further questioning was useless. Besides, he needed to get him out of the wet clothes. A Terran’s body was so weak, it was right on the verge to useless and even a little water could be of serious consequences.

“Thanks, Ro.” Peter fastened the translator on his ear. “For getting me out of there, I mean.” He fastened his belt. Thank God, he had brought some clothes on the Aster last time… even though Ronan’s stuff was quite comfy. Not the armour though. He couldn’t even lift the head piece.  
“Do not thank me. It was me who should have been more responsible,” the Warlord growled. He should have known even humans would eventually notice his rather frequent visits on Terra. “No, it’s not. Stop blaming yourself, you know I-” His rumbling stomach interrupted him and Ronan frowned. “When did you eat last?”   
Peter sighed. “Uhm… Two days ago? Two and a half? Not sure right now.”  
With any passing moment, Ronan was even more glad he didn’t kill these two Terrans, but simply knocked them unconscious. First, he needed information. And second… revenge. He would make sure to pay them back a thousand times. Even though he had been so very careful not to cause any mortal injuries, both of them seemed to have a few broken rips.  
“Go to the Healing Room. Korath waits for you. You can eat afterwards.”  
Peter blinked. “Won’t you come with me?”, he asked; a little disappointed. He hadn’t seen Ronan for a few weeks, because of all the Accuser-stuff he had to do. He had missed him. “Roro, they won’t come around any time soon. I still don’t know how you managed to not kill Irish Guy with that hammer. And Blacky’s out like a light, too. And even if they wake up: They’re in the energy-cells. There’s nothing they can do to escape. And even if they did: We’re on the Aster, somewhere behind Jupiter. There’s only so far, they can go. Besides…” He sighed and his shoulders slumped pitifully. “I really missed you. Had some shitty days and… it just would be nice, if you could keep me company. You know, moral support and stuff.”  
Ronan took another look at the Terran’s face and noticed the large bruises below his eyes, the greasy hair, his weary face. All the details he hadn’t paid attention to. “What did they do with the buckets?”, he asked and Peter sighed. “Waterboarding,” he explained. “Since I didn’t talk. It’s a form of torture, basically-” He didn’t get to finish the sentence. A brute roar interrupted him. “They _tortured_ you?” Ronan was shaking with rage. At the two humans in their cells. At all of Terra. And himself. He had been too late. Wasn’t bothered when Peter failed to answer his first call. Didn’t worry until it was too late. He would make them pay. He would make Terra pay. All of it. Every singe- “-nan.” A pair of weak hands clasped his cheeks. “Ronan. It’s okay. You weren’t too late. They didn’t start yet. You hear me? You. Weren’t. Late. I’m fine. I’m-“ The Accuser crushed his lips on Peter’s and the Terran shuddered beneath the angry force that was his lover. A black tongue opened his mouth, domineering the kiss and arms, stronger than steel-bars wrapped around him. Peter moaned into the kiss. Ronan was angry and fuck… wasn’t that hot as hell.   
Way too soon, Ronan broke the kiss, ignoring the noticeable bulge in his lover’s pyjamas.  
“I will slaughter them,” he growled, before turning his attention back to Peter. “Korath needs to make sure your treatment didn’t cause inner bleeding.”

No inner bleeding. Peter had already known; there was only so much a nasty punch in the gut could do.   
“He isn’t going to blow up earth, is he?”  
Korath shrugged. “He would, if it wasn’t for your opposition on the matter. The Dark Aster’s battle-force would be dangerously diminished in order to provide the necessary energy. However; I don’t think that would stop him.”  
For a moment, Peter didn’t know whether to be seriously concerned or flattered about the fact that his boyfriend was ready to wipe out an entire planet to revenge him. “He’s crazy,” he finally muttered, but Korath shook his head. “He is a Kree, Peter. Do never underestimate the length Kree are willing to go, to protect what they hold dear.”  
The Terran sighed. Holding him dear… yes, he knew Ronan did. Yes, he knew Ronan felt as strongly for him as it was the other way round. Yet, the Accuser would never admit it aloud. He would never say those three words, seeing them as a sign of weakness more than anything else. He had to learn to accepted Ronan’s fucked up concept of honour from the very beginning of their relationship. But sometimes it still hurt.  
“I’ll get something to eat,” he muttered and the warrior nodded. “Don’t overdo it. You haven’t eaten in a while, you stomach needs to readjust.”   
Peter blinked. “How do you…?” “After the incident following Nagdir’s treachery, Master Ronan took care to prevent further misjudgement of your physical abilities.”  
“He forced you to read medical books and stuff,” Peter concluded and Korath nodded. “Nearly a dozen. Your race is incredibly fragile.” “Thank you so much, dude,” the Terran replied dryly and waved, before wandering off. Fuck, he was starving.   
After having eaten (and taking a pack of gummy bears for provisions) Peter wondered what to. He knew Ronan was fuming, probably in the training halls, beating some Sakaarans into a pulp with his bare hands, since wielding his hammer would cause too much damage on the ship. He knew where the Accuser would go, as soon as he had worked off a little steam.

When Peter entered the prison, he was surprised to find Blacky and Irish Guy already woken up. “Hey, guys. Don’t mind me, I’m just waiting for someone. Not you, obviously, since you can’t really go anywhere.”  
“Where are we?”, Irish Guy demanded and Peter shrugged. “On the Dark Aster, somewhere behind Jupiter.” He was a pretty generous guy, wasn’t he? Being helpful like that even though just a few hours prior, they were going to torture him. “I wouldn’t recommend trying to escape by the way. There’s nothing on earth that even comes close compound to Kree technology.” He opened the plastic bag and popped a few sweets inside his mouth. “He’s really pissed at you, you know? Not the fuck-off way of pissed. That’s what he’s like all the time. I mean the really big time pissed.” A few more gummy bears. God, he loved gummy bears.  
“Why did he invade earth then?”, Blacky asked and Peter nearly chocked on a gummy bear (a green one; he never liked the green ones) before laughing for what felt like ten minutes straight. “He didn’t invade earth, duh. He simply crashed on earth since it was the closest planet with a breathable atmosphere.” He shook his head. “The Kree wouldn’t even deem earth worthy of conquering. We’re way too backwards. And besides,” he tried to imitate Ronan’s voice, but the result was rather disappointing, “’Your race will annihilate itself within the next centuries.’ We are simply not worth the effort.” Aaand the bag was empty. Damn. Why didn’t he bring more?  
“Can you open these cells?”, Irish Guy asked and Peter shrugged. “Of course, I can. I’m pretty much authorised to do anything on the ship.”  
“Free us, then! You are-” “Did you know I had to talk Ronan out of fucking blowing up earth?”, Peter interrupted. “It was you who kidnapped me, imprisoned me without any proper reason -and as far as I know ‘meeting species from other planets’ _isn’t_ a crime- and fucking _torturing_ me. I’m really pretty pissed at you.” Still, he wasn’t sure if he wanted these guys killed. They had families… friends. But he probably wouldn’t be able to talk Ronan out of killing these guys anyway. He wouldn’t admit that, tho.  
Finally, the door opened. Ronan entered in long steps. His face-paint was redone, he wore his armour and wielded his hammer. “Leave.” The Warlord didn’t even look at him. Peter frowned. “I just wanted to-” “ _Leave._ ” The order left no room for objection and Peter sighed. He knew, for Ronan his attempt for explanation instead of simple obedience was heavily insulting. Thus, he turned around and left the Kree’s prisoners meet their doom.

It took hours until the door to their shared chambers finally opened again. Peter didn’t ask about Irish Guy and Blacky. He didn’t want to know. At least, Ronan had cleaned himself after his bloodbath.  
It was Peter, who broke the silence. “I could’ve used a hug, you know?”, he muttered. “Or a nice word. ‘Peter, I’m glad you’re okay.’ Anything, really. But being ignored, just… it feels shitty, Ro. Really does. I know it’s the way of your people, but…” He looked a little forlorn at this point. “I am none of your people. And I’ll never be.”  
“Why did you refuse to talk?” Peter blinked. What? He seemed to have said it out loud, since Ronan specified. “Why didn’t you simply tell them during your captivity? There was no need to confess everything you know, but your silence clearly cost you dearly.”  
“Because I’d never betray your trust,” Peter honestly answered. He knew Ronan didn’t want more people to know about them than absolutely necessary. Hell, he didn’t really want anyone to know for that matter. It was humiliating for someone in Ronan’s position to fall for someone in Peter’s. Namely, for someone with no position at all. In addition to the fact Peter was Terran; a weak, technologically underdeveloped species. Surprisingly, the great Accuser being gay wasn’t considered a problem at all on Hala. But well, better not question the only thing that was okay about their relationship. “Let’s be honest, Ro. There’s not much I’m good for, at least not for you. I don’t have any rank, I’m not rich -fuck it, I’m actually kinda poor, I guess-, I don’t know how to fight, I just…” He shrugged, looking down. “Keeping silent is the only thing I can do for you.”  
The heavy silence between them lasted a moment too long.  
“I will slaughter every single Terran, if you wish.” The Accuser stepped closer and cupped Peter’s face in his hands, forcing him to look into his deeply violet eyes. “I will destroy all but those you deem worth living… I will unfurl one thousand years of Kree justice on Terra and burn it to its core! Just a single word… and I will.”  
Peter swallowed. “Dude… That was so disturbing… and hot. Fuck.” Of course, he’d never ask anything of that. But the simple fact that, yes, Ronan wouldn’t just blow up a planet, but erase its entire population, one by one, if Peter all but asked, was just -fuck. Literally. He smashed his lips on Ronan’s, the black paint coming off. It tasted like ashes and stone.   
“I love you,” he groaned, his words getting swallowed by the Kree’s lips. “So fucking much.”  
Of course, Ronan didn’t return the sentiment. He never did. However; he growled into the kiss, his lips opening his lover’s, a black tongue slipping inside. His large hands were still clasped around Peter’s face, holding him capture. The Terran’s nails scratched above the black shirt Ronan decided to wear. It seemed to be made of some kind of strong leather. Fuck, he wanted that thing off! Finally, he found the lacings, and after a few more moments, his hands at last roamed above the bulging muscles Ronan’s chest consisted of. There was no softness, not even his skin gave in. However, the pleasure of touching Ronan was -as always- a short one. Only a few moments later, the Accuser’s fingers clasped both of his hands in one of his, before backing the Terran to the bed. Mere moments later, his lover collapsed on the sheets, the Kree hovering right above him. He teared open the shirt and Peter moaned. At the loss, that is. This one had been one of his favourites. However, his mourning was rather short lived, since Ronan let go of his hands and flipped him face first on the sheets. A large, slightly cool palm caressed his back.   
“These Terrans thought that I forced you…” The Kree bowed forward, until his cool breath met Peter’s earlobe, forcing goosebumps down his spine. “But I cannot force what is already mine, can I?” His terran lover moaned and bucked right into Ronan’s unyielding hands. His palm caressed the firm flesh of his buttocks. “Are you, Terran? Are you mine?”  
Again, Peter found himself unable to answer with desire, simply moaning in response… and gasped, when Ronan teared down his trousers. “Are you _mine_ , Terran?”, the Accuser growled and finally, he got an answer. “Yes… God, yes, _yes!_ ” His cock sprang free, its swollen head nearly hitting his stomach. Fuck, he needed… “Ronan,” he gasped. “Please…”  
He keened, as Ronan’s index-finger sank into him. He wasn’t loose anymore, since they hadn’t seen each other in a while; the stretch burned and the finger inside didn’t yield. It was slightly slippery though; Ronan had probably used salvia… or his own cock’s self-lubricant. The thought made him moan again and he bucked into the Accuser’s unyielding hands. “Your begging pleases me.” It wasn’t even exaggerated. He loved people begging for his mercy. Mostly, he didn’t grand it. He simply enjoyed their pitiful misery, as they tried to save their own worthless lives. This time, however… He lubricated another finger; carefully adding it to the first. Peter needed to be stretched again; their last coupling had been too long ago. The Terran sobbed in relief, when finally, Ronan’s middle-finger joined the first. The movements weren’t for pleasure. Ronan made no attempt to get even close to his sweet spot; he simply loosened his muscles. Almost too soon, the third -and last- finger was added to the stretch. Peter whimpered at the burn it caused, before moaning desperately, as the digits were twisted and turned almost roughly. His cock was seeping.   
Too early for a proper stretch, Ronan’s finger retreated and he felt his hole twitching at the loss. His lover watched the little muscle open and close again, as if attempting to pull his fingers back in. Kree’s muscles were hard and unyielding; watching Peter’s entrance nearly begging to be used made him growl with arousal. His own breeches were tossed aside.  
His cock was bigger than four fingers combined, stretching the Terran to a maximum, but that by no means meant he was going slow. He wanted Peter, needed him to _belong_ , to belong to his side and never, even for a single moment, consider leaving. “Fuck, yes,” Peter moaned, as Ronan watched his hole stretching around his slicked member. It was a beautiful sight and gave in to the reflex to trace the muscled ring with his fingertip. Peter nearly choked at the sensation.  
Whereas the first few thrusts were slow, nearly gentle, Ronan soon sped the pace of his hips, his hands grabbing Peter’s buttocks, keeping them open for him to see his shaft disappearing in his lover’s entrance at each thrust. Taking him from behind was by far Ronan’s favourite positions, even though he was unable to watch Peter’s striking blue eyes cloud with lust. The feeling of power, Peter’s body shaking under the force of his cock, the sounds he made, dulled by the pillow the Terran had insisted on after his first night on the Dark Aster… Ruthlessly, he pounded into the Terran, until his lover’s arms gave in, his face now pressed in the sheets. Pulling out all the way, until nothing but his head remained inside, he used his grip on Peter’s buttocks, to slam his lover onto his cock to the hilt. The muffled scream that followed was the sweetest sound, followed by a single sob, as the Accuser held them both for a few moments, as deep inside as possible. He groaned, as he felt the Terran’s muscles clench around his cock, as if trying to pull him even deeper.  
Peter screamed, when a large calloused hand roughly stroked his suffering cock. By now, the colour had developed to an angry purple, large drops of pre-come nearly running down the shaft. His thump smeared over the tip, spreading the liquid, as his other hand grabbed for Peter’s hair, pulling his head back on the red strands. So weak… so pale. So beautiful. Forming a ring with his fingers and thump, he allowed Peter to rut into his hand, lubricated by his own fluids, in the same pace he slammed into him. The Terran nearly sobbed in relief, when the Kree -finally!- granted him a thrust right into his sweet spot. Then another. And a third… “Ronan,” he choked, the thrust forcing his own cock deep into the Accuser’s awaiting fingers. And with a single stroke, he came, his body convulsing, come smearing between Ronan’s awaiting fingers, and mere seconds later, felt himself being filled with the Kree’s creamy come. He shuddered, when Ronan pulled back, leaving him open and exposed. Ronan once more pulled his ass-cheeks apart, to watch his slightly blue semen drool out. The sheets were a ruined mess of sweat and come.   
“Apology accepted,” Peter finally murmured. “But I want a bath. Right now. With you.”  
“You are insufferable.”


End file.
